Truth of the Soul
by WackyGoofball
Summary: For a new case Dean starts in a psych ward, just to find Sam, who was missing in years, as one of its guests. As it turns out, he has psychic abilities, which is why Sam took off, or so he says. Their bond is put to test as time unravels the much darker mystery looming above them and their destiny. Will they pull through or fail? Read to find out. AU. OOC-ish.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Thanks for actually looking into my story, I hope you'll enjoy reading it ;) If not, sorry that I stole your time. I always enjoyed those psychic!Sam fanfics, which is why I decided to write one, too. And I obviously ship Sam and Dean moments.

This is my second fanfic for Supernatural I'm posting. If you read my profile, you'll notice I'm no native speaker, so I apologize for errors and mistakes in advance. I want to improve through writing – and that's what I do with this here also. And the medical terms are more of quick internet research. I'm no doctor, no psychologist - and I don't know what happens when you mix certain meds. And I want to underline that I don't think that all psych wards are bad. I just wanted a gloomy setting - and for another thing that I will keep to myself for now. I hope no one feels offended.

So, this story is obviously AU. And I give the warning that Sam, especially in the beginning, will be very OOC, but as you will see, this actually stands to reason.

Anyway, I hope you like my story. Reviews are welcome, but please, be gentle. I'm still not all too long in that business.

Read, review, enjoy ;)

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Summary: For a new case Dean starts in a psych ward, just to find Sam, who was missing in years, as one of its guests. As it turns out, he has psychic abilities, which is why Sam took off, or so he says. Their bond is put to test as time unravels the much darker mystery looming above them and their destiny. Will they pull through or fail? Read to find out. AU. OOC-ish.

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When he took the job in that nuthouse, Dean Winchester certainly wasn't expecting anything good to happen. After all it was a _nuthouse_. And he hates nuthouses. They are _nuts_. Well, he mentally prepared for folks eating their salad with their feet and people making handstand all the time or screaming or _whatever,_ but for some things you simply can't prepare. And those are the dangers that make his skin crawl involuntarily. Really, he hates such jobs. Dean normally tries to stay away from nuthouses because such jobs give him the creeps. However, Bobby said that there might be some vengeful spirit in this place and that means it's part of the job he takes care of it. Even if that means the hunter has to pose as a male nurse, mark the _male_ in male nurse because it sucks to him to be called such a chick-job, not that Dean doesn't appreciate their work, it's just that people always give you the stares for it when stating that you're a nurse, as a guy. And Dean doesn't like to be looked at for such matters. He wants to be looked at for his awesomeness by some hot chick, easy as that.

With fake ID and some more faked certificates of former asylums he worked for, plus the smug yet charming attitude of the young hunter soon got him access to the nuthouse. Some things just never change. People are so easy to manipulate. Today is his first day, even if Dean wished for his clothes to be less muddy-blue and looking exactly like everyone else. _Ugh_, uniforms _suck_.

"Mr. Smith?" the short redhead, Nurse Jacky, as the tag reads, startles Dean out of his thoughts. She is already in her mid forties, her hair in a tight ponytail, her green eyes sparkling with smartness and sharpness, despite her age.

"Yeah?" Dean turns his head in her direction.

"If it's okay, I'll show you around now, so you know where everything is set, yes?" she beams at him with a quick smile.

"Sure, great," Dean grins, even if he wished she'd just bubble up with the story he needs to find the ghost and off he'd be, but no such luck. The small lady walks him down the spooky greenish aisles talking about all kinds of things.

"Alright, clean sheets, pillows and bedpans are here. Those are fresh sets of clothing. Some of our guests have anxiety, yes?" she explains casually, having her index finger on her lip towards the end, giving somewhat a wink. Dean gulps but tried to keep it down. Really, he is not digging the idea of wiping someone's loo away after he peed himself in all _anxiety._ That's just awkward and definitely not what he signed up for when he became a hunter. Not that he ever signed a contract.

"Here is the basic equipment for medical issues. After all you said that you worked as a registered nurse, right, and that you have LPN? It's great we got some experienced co-workers here. We are running short on those, so you'll be on high demand and therefore giving them injections if needed shouldn't be troublesome for you. Well, syringes are here. Sedatives etc. are here, disinfection over there," she carries on, pointing at the objects in the cabinets while explaining everything. Dean gulps, once again. Changing the bed sheets is one thing, but giving someone an injection of whatever might screw up someone that much that he dies something completely different. Maybe he played a little too high this time with posing as LPN. But Dean wanted to make sure that he gets access to all rooms as such, what made it necessary that he applied as one of the male nurses who's got best access.

"Okay, now, let me show you to our guests here. Over the day most are free to walk around the facility in the areas they were assigned. Here is the recreation room. We got TV in the room here. We have to make sure that some don't watch it, though. They might suffer from an epileptic fit because of their medication. Those who have such restriction wear a blue bracelet around the right arm, okay?" she explains, Dean nodding absently, trying to keep that in mind, for when he actually catches one of those poor bastards in there even if he shouldn't be. No, definitely no need for having someone go through a fit if not absolutely unavoidable.

"Good, blue, right, yeah," Dean repeats curtly.

"Well, you will notice that not all our guests are in here. We have the ones who are not allowed to leave their room without someone supervising them on a different floor at any given time. For the most part they stay in their rooms, though. You can tell those apart since all the ones who are free to go have to wear another yellow bracelet around the left wrist. That makes it easier for us to figure it out if someone slipped out. Now, I'll show you the other rooms," she smirks. She walks ahead for the closed-up folks.

"So this is it," she shrugs, nodding ahead.

"So here's where we have the restricted patients?" Dean asks.

"Oh, Mr. Smith, please note that we don't call them _patients_, but _guests_ instead. Calling them the first builds up negative feelings and it makes them feel home here if we address them as our _guests_. And I can give you the advice that if you say it all the time, the mean word doesn't slip from your tongue as easily, so do we get each other?" she corrects the hunter. He has to grimace, but actually gets the point. You don't have to rub it under one's nose that you're not all too well either.

"Sure, _guests_… so this is where those _guests_ live?" Dean reformulates.

"Quite right… okay… on the wall we have the reports for each guest. Make sure you read it before you enter. Some of our guests have certain habits or want you to knock three times before entering, such things. You know how it goes. Well, I'll have you introduced to them later because I have to give out medication for our other guests in a few minutes. So, are there any more questions?" she asks, looking Dean right in the eye.

"No, I think I'm good. Is it okay if I look around a little more by myself? I just like to get to know a place before joining fully," Dean winks.

"Alright, uhm, but we need you in at least thirty minutes to get the food to our guests," she grimaces, but seemingly not suspicious at any point.

"I'll be there," Dean assures with his most charming smile.

"Good, then see you in a few minutes," she nods, turning around.

"Thank you," Dean says, nodding another time.

Maybe he can speed it up and find the room where the former "_guest_" hung himself before he even has to use one of those instruments the Lady just showed him. Room 247 it said in the newspaper article Bobby sent him. That is one of the restricted. _Great_, probably Dean will have the luck to stumble into the room with the one trying to recreate _Child's Play_ or _Saw._ He rolls his eyes stalking down the hallway until he finds the room with said number. Be fingers for the portfolio once he reaches the door. Better listen to what the Lady said. _**Sam Beck**_. Beck? _Seriously_? And he thought _he_ was making up funny aliases. So what else does it say? _**Severe schizophrenia, catatonia, paranoia, hallucinations, multiple personalities/dissociation (?), OCD, depression, PTSD (?),cause unknown, DSH**_... that is _heavy_ shit. He is on _all_ kinds of meds and is supposed _**to be sedated at **__**ANY**__** given time**_, probably with those meds that send you up all the way to the moon and back.. Then... he is under _**constant surveillance**_, just like the Lady said, and that because... oh, he _**killed**_ people, _nice_. Of course he had to kill someone!

Dean takes a deep breath before opening the door with the key he snatched. The hunter cautiously walks in to find the man sitting with the back to him on the bed, cross-legged, looking out of the small window, the head slightly tilted at the beam of sunlight, seemingly. He fades into the white color of the room perfectly well, as his clothes are of the same hue. Only his pale complexion and the chestnut hair actually stand out, though the edges are so soft in the white light that they lose the fight to be seen, and simply die into white.

"You are not supposed to be in here," comes the sing-song of the man. Dean's heart sinks.

"I, uhm…," Dean grimaces uncomfortably. Maybe he should have waited till they were taking this guy for a walk. Really, the fine hairs on his neck are standing upright – this is not good, _so_ not good.

"You don't have to be afraid," the man breathes.

"I'm…," he frowns. How does the man know he is actually afraid now?

"A liar," the man completes.

"Hey," Dean exclaims, a little taken aback by that. The man didn't even look at him and he's already accusing him? _Not nice_.

"You are… and you're not supposed to be here, Mr. _Smith_, that isn't even your name. You are no nurse. You are not supposed to be here... Dean," the man says, much to the hunter's shock. Dean never introduced himself as Mr. Smith. The man never turned to see his tag. He knows he is not some nurse, even knows his original name… _what the hell_?! And now that he is coming closer to the man he sees the familiar stature, the voice, soft, yet strong, despite the meekness it now has. A voice he used to hear so many times and learned to miss, regardless of his complains before…

Dean finally manages to walk ahead of the man and Dean would just love to faint at that moment. In front of him is...

"Sammy?" he gasps.

That is his brother! The brother he didn't see in years. What the hell happened and why is he here? What the hell? And how did he know? Why does he know his thoughts? Why does he know the alias? Why is he in a fuckin' nuthouse? As a patient?! What? What? _What_?!

"You ask too many questions all at once, Dean," Sam sighs.

"Sammy, I…," Dean gulps.

"Spirit's taken care of, if you wanted to ask that," Sam nods.

"What?" Dean shakes his head.

"I took care of it. We always take care of everything. Family business," Sam repeats flatly, a sentence embedded into his mind like nightly lullabies since the age of nine.

"Sam... Why are you here?" Dean is finally able to get out in a croaked voice.

"Because of my _condition_," Sam snorts.

"What condition?" Dean shakes his head. Sam had always been as healthy as a bull.

"You read my report. Schizophrenia, catatonia, paranoia...," Sam repeats.

"Sam, I…," Dean mutters helplessly, still perplex bout Sam seemingly knowing everything about him.

"They just don't get it," he shrugs, tilting his head awkwardly.

"What don't get?" Dean asks.

"That I _don't_ hear the voices inside my head because I _imagine_ them. I hear them coz they are there. Because I hear people thinking. I hear everything. I hear you. I hear what you think. I hear what Tom thinks. I hear everyone and everything. They say it's schizophrenic… I say it's not… but they don't believe me… and I'm past trying to prove it," Sam grunts, his eye twitching once.

"Sam, since when are you here?" Dean asks frantically.

"In here since June, in such places... for two years," Sam explains with a shrug, knowing that Dean wanted to know both.

"What?!" Dean exclaims, the shock clear in his grimace.

"You're upset," Sam tilts his head.

"Well, yeah!" Dean exclaims. Of course he is upset! How is there any other way that he cannot be upset about this situation?!

"Isn't it time for your round yet? After all, you work here… you should go…" Sam says casually.

"Sam, hey, we have to get you outta here. Now come, we get you out of here," Dean says frantically. Sam is not thinking he will leave him here, now does he? Dean could never do that.

"No, I'm supposed to stay here," Sam says flatly.

"Sam, you're my brother. I don't leave you here, now listen to me," Dean squints his eyes against the tears and the desperation welling up inside of him.

"Tom comes here in fifteen minutes. They'll have salad today. Tom is coming down with the flu, you know? His daughter, Emma, she's a teen, accused him of being old-school this morning, while having… pancakes for breakfast… he's still thinking about that and he will come in here and tell me another time because he thinks I don't realize a thing around myself and that he can therefore load it on me," Sam exhales.

"Sam, now, please, just come," Dean pleads.

"I don't have a yellow bracelet," Sam argues.

"I get you one, see, I actually have one, now just come, Sammy! I beg you," Dean cries out, his voice shaking.

"I was not assigned one," Sam sighs.

"Sam, that's beside the point! Please, just get up and come with me, please!" Dean now begs.

"You are desperate," Sam cocks his head in that awkward way once again.

"Yeah!" Dean grimaces. Of course he is. He finally finds his long-lost brother and then he doesn't want to come with him and finally escape from this place?! That's the material desperation is made of!

"You shouldn't be. They don't hurt me," Sam argues flatly.

"Sam, please, you are my brother," Dean goes on, quivering against the cold spreading throughout his body.

"Yeah," the younger man nods absently.

"And family sticks together, you remember that?" Dean desperately tries to get into eye contact with Sam, but doesn't manage. Sam says nothing, just stares sideways again.

"Come with me. I beg you," Dean whimpers.

"You want to cry now," Sam sighs.

"Yeah, Sam, actually, I'd like to cry now… so… now please, come with me. I'll get you out. You don't stay here, listen to me. I know you. You are my brother. You don't belong here! You don't stay in such a place if I can help it!" Dean grits his teeth against the tears.

"You are sad," Sam adds.

"Yeah, Sam, please, don't make me any sadder," Dean begs, clutching on to straws again and again. Sam searches his eyes for a moment, if ever so briefly. Yet, worlds collide, worlds that grew distant, belonged to different universes for a time, but they are right back in the same cosmos.

"Oh, okay," he suddenly says, much to Dean's surprise, though.

"Okay?" Dean questions, still not quite believing his own ears.

"I don't like you sad… then I'm sad myself," Sam replies.

"Good, good, good. Now let's get you up, huh? Think you can stand?" Dean asks, not taking second chances.

"Yes," Sam nods.

"Good, now, here's a yellow bracelet. Put that on. We will get you clothes as mine once we make it over to the storage. Then we will go together, okay?" Dean carries on in his soothing big-brother-voice, trying to sound enthusiastic to some degree.

"Go together… heh…," Sam repeats mindfully, now staring at his shoestring, which aren't there because he has slippers on – Dean remembers somewhere in the back of his head that the guests don't wear shoes with strings because they might try to kill themselves using the strings, which makes the older brother want to gag once again.

"Sam, now I need you to focus, okay? I know you're on meds and all, but you have to concentrate," Dean demands.

"Concentrate," Sam repeats with a slight nod.

"Yeah, right. Good, now I want you to walk next to me and act as if nothing happened. Try to act as one of the staff, okay? I will get you out of here, I promise," Dean says frantically.

"You don't know yet. Why do you promise?" Sam asks.

"Sammy, please," Dean begs desperately. This is really not the time to ask the philosophical questions of life – not when life is on the line.

"Good, let's go," Sam says after looking Dean in the eye for a short moment.

"Yeah, right, now come," Dean nods, not asking questions again.

Together they walk down the hallways. Gladly no one interrupts them this time. Dean manages to get them to the room where the clean bed sheets and clothes are stored.

"Good, now, you take a set of these clothes and put them on. Get out of those and take off the bracelet. Come, I'll help you," Dean says frantically. He gently pulls on the sleeve and helps Sam out of the white clothing of the _guests_. The younger man doesn't even disagree. It's just as if he was a kid again, just in the body of a man. Just what happened to his younger brother over the past years? And how didn't he see that?!

"Great, now we will just walk out of here. I say you're my colleague and you're sick. So just…," Dean grimaces.

"Look like I look now, thanks, nice," Sam manages much alike his former self to which Dean can't hide a small grin. They walk further.

"Hey, uhm…," Dean nods at the man of the security at the exit. He wants to greet him by first name, but… he doesn't remember.

"Jim," Sam mumbles under his breath.

"Jim? My friend here got sick. I just want to get him home. He lives just around the block. Can you open the gate?" Dean lies.

"I'm not supposed to do that," Jim grimaces.

"C'mon, you want him to hurl all over the place?" Dean tries again.

"Can't he manage that himself?" Jim argues.

"Does he look like he can?" Dean repeats in an enacted flat voice. Sam almost falls over to prove the point. Dean really has to hide his smirk. Even on heavy meds and… whatever it is with Sam… he can still pull that off.

"Yeah, well, no…," Jim frowns.

"So would you be so polite and collegial to let me take him home?" Dean asks.

"Sure, uhm, but make sure you come back soon," Jim grimaces, but eventually pushing the button for the doors.

"Of course," Dean smirks with a wink. Never. With that the gate opens and together they walk outside, and not once did Dean feel such relief washing over him as he left a nuthouse for good. Though his musing is short-lived, because the hunter within him takes over, figuring out plans of what to do next, how to make sure Sammy is safe. Now it's important to get over to the next state and definitely change the alias.

"You still have it," Sam suddenly says.

"Huh?" Dean turns his head.

"The Impala," Sam nods ahead.

"Yeah, yeah, still have it, Sammy. Now, just sit down, okay? We will drive away, yeah?" Dean keeps up with the voice he used to use on a four year old Sammy, but at that point he thinks it's better fitting than grunting some harsh comments at him. The velvet gloves will stay on until Dean untangled this situation. With that he starts the engine and sets the car into motion, an odd sense of familiarity spreading within him, though it's not familiar in the least.

"You don't know where," Sam argues.

"Right, but when did I ever know, huh? We'll simply… we just drive down the roads. Only you and me, okay? Just like we used to," Dean offers nervously. He is so goddamn afraid that Sam will slip away from him… in that state. Dean can't afford to lose Sam. Never again.

"This is the first time in two years that I set the foot on a street again…," Sam mumbles absently, now staring at his shoes again.

"But you were moved there not so long ago…," Dean grimaces.

"They drove into the parking lot, all the way up to the front… I was dangerous, after all… first time I set foot on a street again…," Sam mumbles absently.

"I still can't believe this. I thought… dammit, I thought…," Dean curses, his head forcefully bobbing forward once.

"You thought I took off because I wanted to, yeah, I know…," Sam completes, much to Dean's shock.

"But what is it with you? I mean, you said that… and you… dammit, I can't even talk straight!" Dean grunts, utterly frustrated with himself. He should keep a clear head in this, still he is the only one not getting out a single sentence right.

"You don't think any clearer either," Sam remarks.

"How do you know that, Sam?" Dean asks – because that is the one-million-dollar-question here.

"I can hear everything inside your mind. Your mind's my mind… in some way… or another… it's… complicated," Sam struggles for the words, though struggling would mean that he tries hard to get it across. However, Sam's voice is no more than a hum, and he is too busy glancing at everything around him other than his older brother.

"Try to explain, please. I have to understand this, at least… generally," Dean tries.

"Well, uhm… remember Missouri?" Sam says after a long pause he takes for the thinking. Really, those meds didn't do his huge brain any good over the past two years. And Dean could still smack all of them to death for daring to do that to his baby brother.

"That Wendigo gig?" Dean frowns.

"No, not the state Missouri… Missouri, the medium of our hometown," Sam corrects him.

"Oh, yeah… that Lady creeped me out," Dean grimaces, his memories of that lady still more than vivid. She would always complete his sentences and punish him even _before_ he tried to do something.

"She knows what you think," Sam carries on.

"Right," Dean approves.

"That's what I do, too," Sam explains.

"Oh… OH!" Dean nods at first, but then eventually processes the news. Sam knows what he thinks! He is… a mind-reader. For Chrissake, Sammy's a _mind-reader!_

"Yeah," Sam nods with half a smirk.

"So you…," Dean stammers.

"I get everything you want to say or maybe just develop inside your head the moment it comes about. I know it all. It's all in here, everything," Sam says, tapping at his head lazily.

"So you…," Dean still can't manage to get a sentence out straight.

"I know everything about you. If I wanted to, I'd tell all your memories, if I only intruded further," Sam says.

"Since when?" Dean questions, in a rather gruff tone.

"Five years, two months… twenty seven days, sixteen hours…," Sam counts.

"So since…," Dean grimaces.

"Since a while," Sam shrugs.

"But you disappeared _three_ years ago, not five, that means…" Dean argues. And that's when it dawns on him.

"It developed. Like a flower before withering... it comes to bloom first. Like the lilies... you don't remember the lilies back at Pastor Jim's, do you?" Sam suddenly says, that lunatic gaze in his eyes once again, even if it is med-induced for all it's worth.

"I think I do, actually. You liked to hang around Jim's little patch when you were still small. When we were there you tended it and later on, you just sat there and read some heavy book," Dean smirks at the memory shortly.

"Right. And they were small before they'd bloom. The same is with this. It started with little things... and got bigger," Sam explains.

"So you had them even before you went away…? I didn't even know. Fuck, I had not even the slightest hint of a clue, Sammy!" Dean mutters, utterly frustrated with himself. Sam was having the thoughts of everyone inside his head even five years ago, and still, as it is a Winchester-trait, everyone kept on lying to him. Damn, just damn!

"I didn't tell you. That was my secret. We always kept secrets. So many…," Sam exhales.

"But Sam! Normally we two were honest to each other. I would have helped you. I would have tried!" Dean speaks.

"Honesty is a big word. That's what you learn when you hear everything and nothing, when you hear the person entirely. I hear even the smallest nothings of the mind. I hear the tiny lies, the ones you don't even realize as such. When they tell themselves: '_I'll do it tomorrow for sure'_ and they will tell that themselves day after day after day. The small lies… The big lies… And you lied to me, too, despite that promise of… being honest…" Sam returns.

"Well, I…," Dean grimaces, uncomfortable to be confronted with… _the truth_, actually. He wasn't always as honest to Sam as he maybe should have been. All those times he told Sam that dad would come back this night and that he knew for sure that he was doing fine. That they wouldn't move in a while. That Sam may join some club. That everything was normal. That everything was fine… the list is endless. Reality hurts.

"I don't blame anyone for lying. It's just that... you lose faith… because everything turns to dust. Ashes. Is washed away. And at some point there is no way you believe in anything anymore, only the dust," Sam exhales.

"But you can believe me, Sam, believe _in_ me. I'm your brother," Dean argues. Even if, inside his heart, he knows that this is a weak statement. He is his brother, _great_. Still it took him a freakish coincidence and three years of wandering around to get to where they are now.

"Yeah, I know that," Sam nods.

"Then why did you run away? Why didn't you talk to me? Or dad?" Dean asks. That won't go into his head. Normally Sam always came to him when he was having problems. Dean was his suggestion box, his last resort. And Dean always, deliberately, took that spot because he wanted to.

"I know you're not joking, but... are you kidding me? Dad?" Sam shoots him a glare.

"Well, okay, but to me…," Dean admits. Dad and Sam never had the brightest father-son-relationship, as for the sugar-coated version. In truth, they were constantly fighting. Each of them fighting over every inch of ground to stand on. They never understood each other, even if that made them so much alike, in Dean's eyes. They never gave up, always took any fight, wouldn't stand down, two sheer wills which happened to be on opposite sides. They were like fire and water, so it's not without a reason that Sam feels somewhat mistrust towards their father, especially if you keep in mind that he now sees all the lies people told him throughout the past.

"That's something you don't quite understand… that's… complicated. So, dad was no one I could turn to, not for such matters, for most matters…," Sam shrugs.

"Sam, I… I don't know how to tell you that just now, but dad, he…," Dean grimaces.

"… is dead," Sam completes in a flat voice.

"What? I mean, yeah, yeah… I'm sorry. That's the way it is. He died on a hunt. He tried to protect me, well…," Dean mutters, his chest feeling incredibly heavy.

"I know, I saw it the first moment you came into the room… you wear your emotions on your sleeves, Dean… at least you're an open book to me, maybe not the rest, but me," Sam explains.

"Yeah, you could always see right through me," Dean smirks.

"Yeah… I know you…," Sam nods.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, I…," Dean croaks.

"You are still in deep grief and regret… and guilt," Sam says.

"It's fine. That's what the job demands. And such things happen all the time…," Dean sighs.

"You are lying," Sam exhales.

"Fine, maybe I am. I don't know. I just… can you stop reading my mind? Seriously? It's freaking me out!" Dean mutters.

"If I could… I wouldn't have left," Sam shrugs.

"So you left coz…," Dean gasps.

"The lilies started to bloom. I heard everything you thought. Everything dad thought. Everything Bobby had on mind, or Jim or Caleb. Suddenly there was everything and nothing altogether. I couldn't control it. It just flooded into me, tried to drown me. The waves crushed. And it broke me. The world shattered to pieces and I didn't see a way to repair that. It was unfair because suddenly I was holding the threads and there was no way for me to pass them over. No way to share. You couldn't do what I could, couldn't see what I saw, couldn't hear what I had ringing in my ears. I saw inside of you and I saw everything. Stripped you down to your soul. I couldn't stop it. That is treasure however, something sacred, pure, untouched. The soul should remain intact and untouched, unseen. I don't want to hear and see everything of you. I don't want you to become something in my eyes I don't want to see, at least not you…," Sam whispers towards the end.

"What do you mean with that?" Dean questions, his voice shaking with emotion.

"You are my brother. For me, you are what dad is to you. You were my role model, the one I looked up to. Worshipped. When seeing through someone they way I do, you strip him off of all qualities and all good parts of the personality. I didn't want that to happen. I loved you too much as if I could afford to lose you to the truth. I wanted to keep the picture I had of you. One that isn't stained by stainless steel. I didn't want that. I couldn't stand the thought. That was just too much. I only meant to keep, not destroy. I couldn't afford to lose that, even if it meant I'd have to lose you in another way…," Sam says.

"Sammy… I just don't get it that you ran away and… wouldn't let me help you. As much as I try to, it won't go into my head," Dean explains with a deep sigh. Because that's a matter of fact. He gets it that Sam had trouble with this, that he… struggled, naturally, who wouldn't? But it still doesn't dawn on him why Sam had to take such measurement and… leave. Leave him.

"You're angry with me," Sam says in that detached way again, which starts to make Dean's skin crawl.

"What…? No, I'm not, I'm not, Sam. How could I be angry with you?" Dean insists.

"You are just now. Dean, you can't… lie to me about that. I know what you feel because I feel your anger as my own. And you are angry, and frustrated, and sad, sad that I didn't put… more faith into you, yeah, that's it," Sam nods to himself.

"Sam…," Dean sighs, but the younger man just shakes his head slowly, "You just can't understand that… not yet…."

"And you won't tell me now?" the older brother grimaces. Sam shrugs at that. Dean lets out a sigh, "The other thing I don't understand is… I just don't get it that I didn't even know whatcha got yourself into, with the Psycho Ward and all."

"Didn't see a point," Sam shrugs.

"In what?" Dean frowns.

"Getting out," Sam goes on casually.

"Why that?" Dean questions.

"I'm hungry," the younger brother says, to which Dean can't help but gape, "What?"

"It's time for food. We normally get our meal by the time," Sam says monotonously.

"I…," Dean stammers.

"We always eat at the same time," Sam grits his teeth, suddenly anxiety and nervousness rising within him.

"Oh, uhm… think you can hold on a little longer till we get across state? Here, uhm, got this?" Dean says hastily, fingering for an energy-bar he's accidentally mixed in with the dozens of chocolate bars he normally buys. Sam takes it hesitantly and eyes it for a while. That's probably the first energy-bar he's seen in years, Dean reminds himself. And Sam is still high on meds, that's for sure. So he gets to be a little, well _not from this planet_, no actually he gets to be _a_ whole lot of not from this planet at this point. Sam shrugs and fidgets for the wrapping, but he holds his hands at a totally awkward angle.

"Uhm… Sam? You okay there?" Dean frowns.

"Hm?" the younger man hums absently.

"Well, the wrapping, if you take it like that it won't be that difficult… shall I do it for you?" he offers, but Sam replies sternly, "No."

Eventually he gets a grip on the edge and can open the wrapping. Dean has the sweat standing on his forehead. He is nervous to take a wrong step with Sam, but to watch him struggling with the easiest thing on earth is giving the older brother heartaches so hurtful that they threaten to tear his chest into two. Sam, meanwhile, picks out little pieces of the energy-bar he swallows after having chewed on them for half eternity, each. Again, his hands have an awkward angle.

"Are your hands okay? Or are you hurt?" Dean asks, now the worry having the better of him. Or maybe someone hurt Sam's hand so that they were broken? There are just so many dark and gloomy thoughts all of the sudden, Dean can barely take it.

"Hm?" Sam frowns, looking at his wrists, then grins, however, "No… They had me restrained in a long while… I just didn't get back to… using my hands properly again… didn't see any sense either coz I was restrained almost by nature. Normally we don't have anything that's wrapped or so. We might die from eating it, that stuff."

"They had you restrained?" Dean brings out.

"Sure," Sam shrugs.

"Why? When? In that facility?" Dean demands, but Sam just gives it another comment of nonchalance, "In the beginning, later on no longer. Just increased the sedatives. They thought that was better. They got told so from the other facility, which was told from the one before… that goes back and back. Started with me… well… being there after having killed someone… later on because I lunged at people… bit one once… knocked one out… that's why."

"Why did you do that?" Dean asks cautiously.

"Had to be," Sam replies.

"Why?" Dean questions again, to which Sam replies absently, "I don't want to talk about that yet, I'm eating. Then you don't talk. There's never one to talk when you eat… they go… this is already too much talking… coz normally I only talk to myself when eating."

"But I'm here now," Dean argues weakly. He is here, they are here. Why isn't his Sammy seeing that?

"Right… that's what I told myself all the while, too," Sam chuckles to himself, grabbing another piece of the bar. Dean gazes at him with sad eyes, desperately trying not to cry. Sam imagined to have meal with him, so he wouldn't feel that alone… and Dean wasn't there to actually sit there with him. Because he was off some other place, some other hunt, some other bar, some other chick's bed…

"When you were still small and came home from school and I'd get you the meal, you'd always tell me 'bout everything you saw in school, remember that?" Dean tries to change the mood of the situation.

"Hm," Sam hums.

"You were a little chatterbox all the while, but you always had that glee when talking about it. I couldn't keep myself from grinning," Dean goes on, forcing a sad smile.

"Was annoying you often enough," Sam snorts.

"Just coz I was a big brother and already thought I was a full-grown-teenager… just without the chest hairs," Dean jokes weakly.

"You used to count them in the bathroom," Sam nods, his face a straight line.

"Aw! You already knew by then how to do that with the mind?! That's mean!" Dean exclaims mockingly, to which Sam replies with a damned shrug once more, "No, you left the door open."

"Oh… snap," Dean grimaces.

"When we get across… state… we have to get cranberry juice… they always made us drink cranberry juice…," Sam says absently once more. Dean can't help himself but think of Sam as the ocean at that moment. One moment he is flooding the shore, the next he is gone. And you don't know what lies at the bottom of that dark blue pit.

"But you hate that stuff, at least as a kid you'd scream and run when dad bought it by accident," Dean argues. He can still recall more than vividly that disgusted puppy face he'd make when dad brought the wrong stuff. Dean never bought it, but dad didn't know that much about Sam's kinks. Dean knew them all and loved them all, apparently.

"I still don't like it," Sam nods.

"Then why do you want it?" Dean knits his eyebrows at his younger brother, who was gone elsewhere with his mind for a few seconds. He shakes his head once before he answers, "Hm? No, that's what they give you because they think you don't realize they put the heavy stuff in there, so you don't taste it… they think I didn't know… I did all the while."

"Sam, I… I'm not one of those folks, alright? You don't have to drink anything you don't want or take anything you don't want, alright?" Dean argues.

"We have to get some of the sedatives and stuff…," Sam says.

"Why that?" Dean demands.

"Keeps me under control," Sam hums.

"Sam…," Dean means to argue, but Sam interrupts him now with much more clarity in his eyes, "You don't want to see me… sober… like that."

"Sammy," Dean argues again, but only to be cut off by the younger man, "And I don't dig the idea of cold turkey. I rather… do it step by step, if it has to be."

Sam nervously nibbling on his fingernail. Dean think about it for a second – and that makes actually sense. If Sam is on such heavy medication, withdrawal would be one pain in the ass.

"Yeah, sure, of course, that's reasonable," he agrees nervously. "Well, we'll have to do good guessing at what they gave you and in what doses then, huh? But we'll figure this out, you'll see."

"Haldol, Zyprexa with Symbax, Thorazine, BZD, Prozac… when I _lash out_, as they say, we'd need Droperidol. That knocks you out in days," Sam says.

"They told you?" Dean makes a face.

"No, you did. You read the file," Sam shrugs.

"Oh, but I only thought it'd be heavy stuff… didn't know what it does and didn't pay much attention to that, to be perfectly honest," Dean grimaces, to which Sam answers, "But the picture is embedded into your mind. And that is what I see. I can see through your eyes if I want to. So we need Haldol, Zyprexa with Symbax, Thorazine, BZD, Prozac… Droperidol…"

"Sure, we'll get that somehow. No worries," Dean assures him quickly.

"Hm," Sam nods absently, chewing on another piece of the energy bar, now staring out the window.

"Sammy?" Dean says in a hushed voice.

"Hm," the younger man hums.

"… I'm glad to have you back, just so that you know, you know," Dean admits.

"Thanks…," Sam says numbly. Dean grimaces before turning his gaze to the street ahead again, hitting down on the gas pedal a little harder, trying to put as much distance between his kid brother and that psych ward as possible.

_Never again_.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few hours they are finally across the borders and Dean feels confident enough to head to a gas station, get fuel and human-fuel, namely food and beverage. After all, he is still glad Sam didn't lose it over the set eating-time they had to push back. Dean doesn't know yet what those two years in the psych wards did to Sam and well… his psyche, not even talking about Sam being a mind-reader and… fuck, Dean probably shouldn't even think that. The older man just wants to have his brother back, he wants everything to feel the way it used to, when it was just them and the road, when Sam wasn't a mind-reader, when there was no distance between them, when wasn't in a psych ward, for whatever the reason. Life has never been easy for them, but this is a new level of complicated. At some point Dean honestly envies the "normal" people. Their troubles are curiously small. They fuss about forgotten birthday presents or that they have to work overtime. They really should take a glance at their lives for a second – then they'd know what it actually worth fussing over.

"Okay, we'll just get to the next gas station and then I getcha anything you want, Sammy," Dean tells the younger man.

"You want to stop before that," he argues, looking ahead, to which Dean frowns, "Huh?"

"Wow… you are seemingly upset… otherwise you wouldn't miss that, as a hunter," Sam scrunches his nose at the older man.

"What?" Dean can't help but grimace again.

"Dean, what are we wearing?" Sam argues, sounding a bit like the Sam from a few years ago. The older brother glances down at himself to still find the fancy nurse wear on him that he got in the asylum, just as Sam is still wearing his.

"Oh, shoot, yeah, definitely don't want to have questions about… _that,"_ Dean grimaces. "Good that you caught that."

"You're still very upset. Then you miss things, naturally," Sam hums.

"Well, I hope that some of my clothes will fit you. I mean, you grew quite a bit and put on some muscles since… well, you know," Dean says.

"Since I left, yeah," the younger brother nods.

"We'll get you new clothes once we put a safe distance between us and… well, the others there," Dean shrugs, and Sam agrees silently, "Sure."

Dean pulls the car over on one of the dirt roads, feeling confident no one will find them in that spot. He exits the vehicle and walks over to the trunk to retrieve his duffel. Dean quickly finds a set of clothing for himself he hurriedly puts on. He definitely wants to get out of the nurse clothes… and makes a mental note to burn them, along with Sam's. After that starts the long quest of finding something that would most likely fit Sam. Even if Dean doesn't like to admit it to himself, his younger brother is now clearly taller than him, and possibly has more muscles, though Dean will not admit that to himself, _of course_. However, then the dread soon pulls at his muscles, making them a hundred tons heavier. The fact that Sam is now taller than him just shows how much time passed since the last time they were face to face. How much time they didn't just spend apart, but lost. Dean didn't see his younger brother in so many years that he couldn't tell that he grew that tall, he wasn't there every step of the way, as it used to be. And that thought involuntarily makes tears spring to Dean's eyes he hastily wipes away.

After some time he is finally able to find some clothes that he purchased in a hurry and found them too big for himself, but was too cheap to throw them away. Sometimes it pays off to keep stuff you don't need. It may come in handy later. Happy with his choice, Dean walks up to the other side of the car, tapping his palm on the roof the car as he comes closer to Sam, "Hey there, found you something that'll hopefully make you look not too much like a teen whose mom's washed the tuxedo too hot for prom night."

Sam just glances at him, takes the clothes with almost shaky hands, his face an uncertain grimace.

"C'mon, it's the best I got just now," Dean argues.

"No, it's just…," Sam bites his lower lip.

"Hm?" Dean blinks at him.

"First time in two years I've worn… like… actual clothes?" Sam admits. He rubs the fabric between his fingers absently. They feel soft and warm. And they don't smell of that awful washing powder the facilities used. The little things. It's the little things that make life a little more bearable.

"That's over now. No longer those… other clothes, promise," Dean says frantically in the hope that this will hush the dark thoughts away that come with the admission. His brother didn't even have the chance to wear normal clothes, normal slippers with shoestrings. Just how much went wrong that Sam didn't even wear normal clothes for years?

"Hm," he shrugs, before he grimaces uncomfortably. "Uhm… privacy?"

"Seriously?" Dean huffs. They saw each other change since _ever._

"I'm out now. Means I don't need a guard watch me doing that anymore," Sam says, to which Dean can't help but gape, "They did?"

Sam just stares at him, definitely saying _yes_ with his eyes. Dean swallows, "Alright, I'll be at the trunk, that fine?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam nods silently. With that Dean walks back to the trunk and waits for Sam to finish. And if that wasn't just a sign to show that they grew miles apart. Sam doesn't feel safe around him, not even with the most trivial things of changing clothes – not that Dean digs seeing his brother in his Adam's costume, but... it didn't bother before. Now it does. And doesn't that mean that something is no longer the way it used to?

"We can go," Sam says after a while.

"Alright, took you like forever," Dean smirks. Sam says nothing but looks ahead again. Dean has to try with all his might not to look at him sadly. Sam is just drifting away over and over again. Whenever Dean has the feeling that he grasped the hem of Sam's shirt to hold on to, his eyes go another place, and the promising fabric is ripped away from Dean's fingertips, leaving him numb and unsure of himself, of everything. Sam stands right in front of him, but still he seems so far away.

"Alright, now fueling it is," Dean says, keeping up with the enthusiasm, fake or not. He doesn't know if this is good. At some point he knows it's probably bad because Sam knows it is rather an act, but Dean can't help himself. That is what he always did when Sam was upset or when he was upset about Sam. He couldn't change the situation, but Dean could change the voice, the tone of a situation. He could light a candle in the dark, even if it was a meager one.

He starts the car and they are on the road again. Dean suddenly feels a wave of nostalgia hitting him. Sam looks more like himself again, no longer in that sickly blue nurse outfit. They are on the road, no one but them… yeah, it feels damn good, dream-like, actually, now thinking about it, a little closer to where they once were, if only just a few feet. Dean smirks as he fingers for the radio and starts one of his cassette tapes and soon _High Voltage_ fills the car. The older brother beams over at Sam, who actually gives him a faint bitch face. Smirking at that, he turns up the volume another time, but then… the radio suddenly goes on, shutting down the sounds of _High Voltage_ and plays the news instead.

"The hell?!" Dean exclaims, fingering for the buttons, trying to turn it back to his music. And once he hears the sounds again, he settles back, satisfied… only to have the news on again.

"What the hell?!" he exclaims. "Is this some ghost?"

"No drop of temperature, your watch works, no, don't think so," Sam answers curtly.

"Yeah, right… well, maybe some loose… cable. I'll check that later," Dean shrugs, though this is definitely... _weird._ Soon they find a lonely gas station, about just right for their purposes.

"So… you wanna go in with me or shall I just get you something?" Dean asks.

"I'd rather… stay here," Sam says.

"Alright, sure, so what do you want?" Dean questions.

"I liked the energy bar," Sam replies weakly.

"I'll getcha some of those, no worries. You want some coffee?" Dean suggests.

"That wouldn't mix well with the… stuff in my system," Sam shakes his head.

"True again, okay, so anything special? Gatorade? Water?" Dean asks.

"Water, just… water," Sam says, with an air of nervousness flooding him.

"Alright, well, that sounds healthy," Dean scrunches his nose. With that he leaves for the gas station and grabs a little collection of different kinds of energy bars, grabbing a few more of those Sam just ate, something for himself, coffee, water and some newspaper, as always. After that he pays for the gas and the other things and goes back to the car.

"Alright, here you go, lots of energy bars and water," Dean smirks, handing Sam the items, who takes them with a nod, "Thanks."

"Not for that," Dean grimaces. Dean gets back inside, sipping some of his coffee, contemplating, but Sam breaks the silence, "You still don't know where we are heading."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, well, doesn't really matter. We should just go a good distance before we settle on a certain direction. For now, I just want to know they won't come after us," Dean replies.

"After _me_. You didn't do anything," Sam argues.

"Yeah, I got you out, so… that's not what a man-nurse does," Dean snorts.

"Man-nurse?" the younger brother grimaces.

"Yeah, I was posing as a man-nurse, remember?" Dean shrugs.

"I'm glad you didn't write that in the application," Sam huffs.

"I wanted to," Dean argues.

"I know," Sam snorts – because he does. And if Dean didn't know better, he'd say there is a soft smile reaching all the way up to his lips.

"Well, as for where we go… we'll just… see where that goes," Dean says after a while.

"What about the gigs?" Sam argues.

"Hm? Oh, that can wait," Dean assures him quickly.

"Dean, you only say so because you… are… uhm… anxious because of me and this situation," Sam says.

"Well, yeah, Sam, I'm not really thinking about Wendigos at the second, you know? I got other priorities," Dean argues more sternly. "You."

"But dad's told us otherwise," Sam replies.

"Yeah, but family comes first," Dean retorts. Sam blinks at him for a short moment, but then averts his eyes again almost sheepishly.

"Family comes first," Sam exhales, his voice no more than a whisper. He almost forgot that sentence. It was a faint echo in the corners of his mind, hidden behind obscure figures produced by the lulling and numbing images the meds created inside his head, so far away that he didn't dare to listen to the sirens of the past taunting him with those hushed promises of how everything would be fine, of how he believed them because he didn't know better, or knew better, but decided to believe in them nevertheless. To hear it now again... to feel it... that's just... nice.

After that silence engulfs them once again, leaving Dean with the awkward sensation of not being able to even think straight. It's not that he wants to lie to Sam, but suddenly he feels totally exposed to the younger man, that every word of reassurance turns to acid once it travels to Sam, because he sees the lie that comes along with the good intention. However, that sensation, as nerve-wrecking as it is, actually makes him understand step by step why Sam perhaps took off five years ago. When your world is shattered by just a single word or phrase, when every person you see, every person you care about can inflict such deep wounds, can leave you that helpless... that is when you want to get out, somehow, anyhow. And to some degree, Dean gets that feeling.

"Alright, I guess next would be… some drugstore and then a motel, how does that sound?" Dean says to break the silence.

"Good, it's time anyways," Sam nods.

"Yeah, already thought so," Dean swallows thickly. "One thing that gets me concerned, though."

"Stuff is heavy. Need prescription and shit," Sam nods.

"Quite right," the older brother agrees.

"I take care of that," Sam says suddenly.

"Huh?" Dean frowns.

"Just… drive there… I do the rest," Sam repeats, not meeting his eyes.

"But…," Dean means to argue, but Sam simply averts his eyes, looking straight ahead – Sam ended the argument. Dean shakes his head and pulls in once the drugstore sign comes into sight, "Sam, I think you shouldn't go alone."

"I can do that," Sam argues with sudden vehemence Dean didn't expect to find in his younger brother.

"I didn't say you can't," Dean replies quickly.

"But you thought I couldn't," Sam says now almost bitterly.

"I'm just concerned," Dean argues.

"You don't have to be," Sam snarls.

"Why?" Dean asks, to which Sam answers, "I can do that. I didn't lose the memory of all those years of training with dad and you. I'm still a hunter, vegetable or not."

"I don't think you are that," Dean argues nervously, but Sam ignores the assurance.

"Just give me some money so that I can get the things we need," Sam huffs, holding out his hand to Dean expectantly. Dean grumbles some incoherent curses to himself before he thrusts some crumpled dollar bills into the younger man's hand.

"Fine, fine, you do that, but if you don't come out in five minutes," Dean says, and Sam completes with a hint of his bitch face, "You come check on me, of course."

"Quite right," Dean smirks faintly. With that Sam exits the car, stretching, then hopping from one foot to the other, just like he used to before training, to loosen up his muscles. He takes a couple of deep breaths, focusing, and walks in, looking perfectly normal and not in the least suspicious. Dean just stares. He seemingly remember training, actually. For a moment, Dean couldn't tell that this was the Sam who just escaped from a nuthouse a few hours back. That was his... Sammy walking in there... or was it?

Once inside, Sam walks up to the counter, a younger man with dark long hair and wiry frame greets him, "Hi, Sir, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, uhm, actually, I got a question. I'm not quite sure what I need. My brother's sick, you know?" Sam says.

"Well, have you seen a doctor yet?" the younger man frowns at him.

"We were out camping, so no docs really," Sam lies swiftly.

"That stands to reason," the pharmacist nods.

"So we just got here and found this drugstore. I mean, we'll go see a doctor first thing we get to town, but he's got high fever and all," Sam goes on to explain, faking nervousness.

"Well, uhm, what other symptoms does he have?" the raven man asks.

"Uhm… sore throat, rattling in the chest, exhaustion… that's about it," Sam shrugs.

"Well, I guess it's a cold or the flu. For further check-ups… you need to see a doctor for sure. Other than that I'd give you antibiotics and something to get down the fever, so Tylenol is probably the med of choice here," the man tells him.

"Alright, sounds great, thank you," Sam smiles at him. The younger man stuffs a couple of pills into the container. After that he puts them into a white paper bag, but crouches down to get the Tylenol. As that happens, pill containers fly through the air and make their way into the bag as well, without further notice of the younger man. After that he puts in the Tylenol and closes the bag. Sam smiles at him with fake gratitude.

"Anything else you need?" the man asks.

"No, that's it, thank you," Sam offers another smile. The pharmacist nods as he cashes everything.

"Alright, that's twenty in total," he says. Sam hands him a few of the crumpled bills.

"Here, uhm, thanks," he says. Sam turns on the heel and intends to leave, but then the young man calls after him, "Um, sir? You gave me fifty!"

"Yeah, rest is for you," Sam says, waving his hand.

"But…," the man grimaces. However, Sam interrupts him in a soft voice and with a warm smile, "And don't spend it on weed."

The young man blinks two times, confused, but then looks at him perfectly calm, "… Okay."

"Good, actually, you should better stop that entirely," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, maybe I should," the man nods absently.

"And buy your girlfriend some flowers. Apologize to her. You should move in with her. You need clear structures to come clean. She will be glad," Sam goes on in a soft voice.

"Okay…," the man nods.

"Good, then you do that, bye," Sam smiles at him.

"See you around," the guy waves.

"Sure…," the hunter nods. With that Sam leaves the store, letting out a shaky breath as he stands in front of the car.

"Sam, you okay there?" Dean asks worriedly.

"Yeah, yeah… just…," he sighs, before getting himself in.

"You didn't get it or what? Man, that's no shame," Dean argues.

"I got everything we need, plus some… Tylenol and antibiotics. Thought it couldn't harm," Sam says, waving the paper bag at the older brother.

"What?! How did you do that?" Dean frowns.

"I just… took it," Sam shrugs.

"And he didn't realize?" Dean cocks his eyebrow at him.

"No," Sam shakes his head.

"Sam…," Dean sighs, but the younger brother interrupts him more sternly, "He didn't realize anything, Dean. I'm a hunter long enough to know how to snatch something without anyone's notice."

"Well, what is it with you, then? You don't look too well," Dean grimaces worriedly.

"This guy… his thoughts were very… disturbing," Sam exhales as he digs through the bag with the medicine he just snatched.

"How so?" Dean frowns. Sam swallows the mix of colored pills before he takes a swig of the water. Dean purposely ignores the amount of pills that were in Sam's palm just a second ago. Or how shaky his hands suddenly were. That will have to wait until later.

"Well, he works in that store for a reason," Sam huffs, coughing once against the pills working their way down his throat.

"Oh, so he likes to sample them, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Yeah… his thoughts were very _happy._ And they confused me… a lot…," Sam tells him.

"So couldn't you just like… shut your ears?" the older brother questions.

"No, that's impossible. I always hear them when I'm talking to this person. I read his or her thoughts automatically. Normally I can… under many people… but not with few…," Sam explains.

"Hm, actually thought it'd be the other way around," the older brother frowns. He thought it'd be more difficult to handle many voices at once.

"I still rather… am… in lonely places. I don't handle… many people well either," Sam puckers his lips.

"But you just said that…," Dean means to argue, but Sam intervenes, "I can turn down the volume, but if five hundred radio stations hum altogether, it's still loud, but... distorted."

"Okay," Dean nods. He gets that. You can ignore humming better than someone actually talking, right?

"Well, but when I talk to someone… I… I'm in the soul. Once they are close, the volume is fully on and I can't turn it down," Sam shrugs.

"Wow, that sucks," Dean scrunches his nose. There is just so much they have to figure out still, so many questions unanswered, so many mysteries about Sam's... _condition..._ and how he ended up in the nuthouses. Just so much between them.

"Especially since there are so many stupid thoughts, really," Sam snorts.

"Well, what did you expect, a little Einstein in every head?" Dean huffs.

"No, just… not so senseless… and… always repeating themselves," Sam exhales, leaning back in his seat. With all their mental capabilities, many people still think in such straight lines, in so similar schemes, are replicas of the same dull image. Each is a cosmos of its own, and still, still people make no use of it. Sam sees the advantage in that of course. It makes things easier for him. Stupid and simple thoughts are easier to handle than those that reach all the way down to the soul, reach all the way into the dark spheres of an individual universe. However, when you are forced to hear those plain thoughts, hear them over and over again, you want to rip your ears off, scratch your eyes out, bang your head against a wall so hard that it bleeds, so that you can focus on that pure sensation of pain – because that makes everything blur away, fade into the humming of a radio station. So that the two-dimensional world those stupid thoughts create may by any chance be lifted into the third dimension to give it somewhat depth. However, that is very often a lost cause. Simple thoughts stay simple thoughts. No matter how you twist or turn them, they are bound by their dimensions, are bound by x and y.

"Yeah, people are boring, huh?" Dean smirks.

"You got no idea," Sam shakes his head. And the younger man is glad that Dean doesn't have any idea. Is unaware. Can look ahead without seeing the ghostly pale figures with claws and nails so long and so thin that they may penetrate skin upon a single touch. Dean mustn't have any idea of what is really going on, out there, in here. He mustn't ever know, or everything will turn to dust, so Sam knows. And it cannot. Dean can't turn to ashes for the younger brother. He can't lose him to the dust, to the all-consuming fire raging within the world, the fire that keeps on blazing against his skin, leaving nothing but cold behind. Dean mustn't know of that. Ever. It would shatter him. Like glass. And there would be no way to repair the damage again. You can mend some fissures, but you cannot rebuild an entire object of glass. It will collapse sooner or later all over again. Sam knows. That is how it works. That is what it is. That is the old-new world that he found himself to be part of so long ago that he can't pinpoint the time anymore. Time seems such a superfluous construct once you had to see the greater picture. Once your eyes were forced upon to the point that tears sprung to your eyes as you conceived the world in its true light, its true darkness. It's true color of gray.

Yet, Sam dares to sink into the leather of the seat and watch the trees meshing into stripes of green and brown as they drive by. He allows himself for once to feel the safety only Dean could grant him, when he could still fall asleep without looking back, without checking thrice if there wasn't something, someone looming above him. When Sam could just close his eyes, drift away into nothingness, and wake up to see his brother smiling at him. Sam wants this feeling again, if only for just a day, a moment, the blink of an eye. He wants to feel warm again, even if he knows it's selfish. Even if he knows it's dangerous. However, it's Dean. And Dean is... Dean. There are no words to dissect that in any way. To Sam Dean is Dean, with all his mistakes, abilities, qualities and kinks, with the smile, the bright eyes, the snotty comments and high self-esteem. Sam holds dear this wholeness he managed to keep of Dean, as the one person with whom he actually managed. He is not stripped down to his naked soul, yet. He is still... Dean. And Sam wants it to stay that way. He needs at least Dean to stay as a whole. Because he is already in pieces.

And so he lets the vibration of the car, the all too familiar vibrations of the all too familiar Impala, rock him to sleep. Everything can wait until later. He just wants to feel home for once.

After all, it might be over just as fast as it came about.

Because the shadows are always looming above their heads.


End file.
